


Der, Die, Das

by bekommissar_is_canon



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Becommissar AU, F/F, becommissar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bekommissar_is_canon/pseuds/bekommissar_is_canon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, with any luck, would be her final performance in the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Edgy Apple

**Author's Note:**

> AU Becommissar fic in two parts. Inspired by a photo from the HBO series Vinyl with Birgitte’s character Ingrid and Olivia Wilde kissing (at which I may or may not have hyperventilated), and what Birgitte said in an interview about the Kommissar being a solo singer at heart.

This is what she got for getting her hopes up.

Luisa threw her bag and the flowers on the floor and tore off her soaking wet coat. She didn’t care her wet coat would leave watermarks on her suede bag, who cared about a bag when she was the biggest idiot on the planet?

She ignored Petra, her fluffy gray cat, who was rubbing herself against her legs in greeting. She stripped off her clothes as she stormed into the bathroom. She turned on the shower – the water was freezing cold, but she couldn’t wait five minutes for warm water – and stood motionlessly under the shower head, eyes closed. Her face would look  _scheiße_ , she was wearing a thick layer of foundation and lots of mascara, but that suited her just fine, she wanted to look scheiße.

As she felt her hair get wet against her back, she remembered that she had French braided her hair. For her, that two-faced Lena, because she liked braids. She had spent a fucking half-hour watching a Youtube video to get the braid halfway decent, even though she found braids tacky as fuck.

Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake ever again. She impulsively stepped out the shower and went to her bedroom. She fished out a pair of scissors, tugged at her braid, and chopped it off. Good riddance.

She glanced on the floor, where a huge chunk of her hair was lying. Without warning, her eyes swelled up with tears and she started to sob uncontrollably.

***

She needed to get this right until tomorrow.

She muttered the chorus to herself as she scribbled down a new melody. If she fucked up this chance tomorrow, she would never forgive herself. You didn’t get such opportunities every day in Berlin, the trendsetting hub of contemporary art. She needed to blow this producer’s head off, she needed to prove that she could fucking sing, she needed to show that she had potential as a solo artist.

True, her gig as drummer in _der ängstliche Apfel_ , The Anxious Apple, had seemed like her big break when she first arrived in Berlin. The Apples were relatively well-known, and it was definitely a nice boost to her résumé. However, after a year it was starting to grow old, for she was itching to sing and perform alone. So when a music scout approached the Apples after a jam session last month, she knew this was her big break to establish herself as a singer.

For a split second her hand searched for hair to twirl around her finger. She kept on forgetting that her hair was at her neck, she had had long hair all her life. Thankfully, Pieter had touched up the back and even trimmed her bangs, so it didn’t look half bad. Slightly edgy, even.

Clean slate, she thought to herself as she stroked the snoozing Petra on her lap. New career, new hair, new fling. She was almost glad she had caught Lena in the sack when she had arrived unannounced at her apartment. She had been getting too attached to Lena, that had been her mistake. She didn’t have time for a lovey-dovey relationship.

Tonight, with any luck, would be her final performance as a drummer in the shadows.

***

Beca had never realized that Germany was such a cool place.

Sure, you heard about their discipline, automotive perfection, sausages, whatever, but nobody told you how modern its capital was, or how Germans were willing to give you directions in English for five minutes. You didn’t expect the diversity, or to hear Germans poke fun at themselves. Yes, she had made the right decision, choosing Germany for her exchange semester.

She squinted her eyes in concentration. “Hallo,” she said out loud. “Ich heiße Beca. Wie heißt du?” She was determined to speak German fluently until she left. Why, she already knew how to introduce herself and order food. True, it was a ridiculously complicated language – why did every word have a different plural ending? – but her German teacher was lots of fun and everyone on campus spoke near-perfect English, so there was no pressure.

The university’s international office had done a great job of their orientation week, and their German classmates had taken them to a new place every night. Tonight, a new acquaintance was taking her and two of her friends to a hot spot near Brandenburg Gate, a stunning landmark of Berlin.

I can get used to this, she thought happily. “Die, der, das!” she chanted, grabbed her bag and went to meet her friends.

***

Luisa puffed on a cigarette outside the bar. She had a few more minutes until the Apples took stage. She liked her bandmates, and she was a skilled musician. Still, she hoped that tomorrow she could give them the news that they needed to start looking for a new drummer.

She watched a group of young adults pile inside, chattering lively in American English. She enjoyed living in such an international city, where you could hear half a dozen languages on the street. Starting a new life in such a large city hadn’t been easy, but she had fallen in love with Berlin and now couldn’t imagine herself living anywhere else.

She put out her cigarette and walked inside. She took her place on the stage with the rest of the Apples. Her bandmates had loved her new hairstyle, which showed off her large earrings rather nicely.

 _“Guten Abend!”_ sang the lead singer, Sophie, and the place erupted in applause. The Anxious Apple was a crowd favorite. Luisa twirled her drum stick as Sophie introduced herself and the rest of the band.

 _“… und Kommissar!”_ yelled Sophie, and Luisa raised her hand in acknowledgment.  She noticed the brunette American watching her. This must be her first time here, she would have remembered that face. She was rather cute with her button nose and plaid shirt.

She beat her sticks against each other. _“Eins, zwei, drei!”_ she yelled and the Apples started to play. The crowd started to dance, and at the end of the second song everyone was on their feet, jumping enthusiastically.

Beca was dancing as well, she loved heavy metal. She hadn’t heard of the Apples before, but they seemed to be quite popular. The band was dressed in all black, and the drummer had fishnet sleeves. She was playing so passionately, eyes closed and head thrown back.

The beer was strong, the music was excellent and her new classmates were friendly. Yes, she was definitely glad she had chosen Berlin.


	2. The Wonders of Dry Shampoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More swearing and some smut. (I am never writing at the library again.)

Luisa followed her bandmates off the stage amidst the cheering audience.

“Great crowd tonight,” beamed Sophie.

Luisa nodded absently as the others commented on their performance. Her eyes were searching for the cute American, whom she had caught staring at her rather often. Her three friends were still dancing, so she had to be somewhere.

Her eye caught a plaid shirt draped over a bar stool. She smirked and casually sat down on the taken seat. She had conveniently not finished her beer, either. How thoughtful of her.

“Excuse me?”

Luisa heard a timid voice behind her. She turned around to face the brunette in a tank top. “That’s my shirt. And my beer.”

Her voice was so squeaky. Mouse-like, even. 

“I know,” she said. She even looks like a mouse, she thought. So tiny and sweet, with wide eyes and a tiny nose. “I’m Luisa.”

“You’re Luisa the Apple, right?” Blood rushed to her face in embarrassment. “I mean, I’m Beca.”

“Yes, I am the Apple,” said Luisa amusedly. “Beca. You are American? _Sprichst du Deutsch?_ ”

Beca creased her brow. Yes, the ginormous Apple had asked if she spoke German. “I’m learning. I can already introduce myself,” she added proudly.

Luisa burst out laughing. This Beca was positively adorable. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Beca tried to ignore her deep, sensuous laughter and cleared her throat. _“Ich heiße Beca. Ich bin Amerikanerin. Ich studiere Philosophie.”_

“Philosophy student! Impressive.”

“So are your arms,” marveled Beca, staring at Luisa’s bulging biceps. Had she just said that out loud?

“Thank you,” grinned Luisa. She turned to the bartender and pointed at her bottle. _“Noch ein Bier, bitte.”_

“You ordered a beer!” exclaimed Beca. “Is it  _der, das_  or  _die Bier_?”

“ _Das Bier_ ,” said Luisa. “And the right order is  _der, die, das_.”

“What does it matter?” asked Beca indignantly.

“Because this is Germany, tiny Maus, we have rules for everything.” Luisa handed Beca the bottle and raised hers. “ _Prost._ ”

She took a deep gulp of her beer. “So you’re not really a drummer, are you?” she blurted, looking up and down Luisa’s muscular body. ”Like, you’re actually a super-supermodel, right?”

Luisa’s mouth curled upwards. She could get used to the compliments. “You think I’m a model?”

She snorted. “You are physically  _flawless_.”

“Thank you.”

“But that doesn’t mean I  _like_  you.” Good save. That showed her. Right?

That sounded so much better in her mind.

“I didn’t ask you to.” She put down her bottle and held Beca’s hand. “Care to dance?”

Okay, there was no way she was a real drummer. Her hands were way too soft.

***

She was drenched in sweat, the beer had left her buzzed and she had told her friends to leave without her. Oh, and she was dancing with a German goddess, whose hands were resting on her hips.

And now they were moving down her backside. Oh Lord.

“Care to continue the party at my place?” whispered Luisa, lips hovering on her ear. Her warm breath smelled of alcohol and cinnamon, like a hot apple cider.

“Yes,” she breathed, as if she could possibly say no.

Luisa kissed the nape of her sweaty neck in reply. She wasn’t sure if it was the beer, the break-up, or her adorable little face, but she desperately had to fuck tiny Maus, and she had to fuck her now.

“My car’s here, but we should take the U-Bahn. The subway,” she added at Beca’s bewildered expression. “Let me just get the bottle of vodka.”

She unlocked her battered car’s door – she really needed to get the car re-painted – and bent over the car seat.

“Holy shit,” groaned Beca. “No drummer can play for hours and have a butt that good.”

Oh, her compliments were addictive as fuck.

“Ever done it in a car?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled Beca inside the car and pressed her lips hard against hers. Her tongue forced Beca’s mouth open and she bit down on her bottom lip, getting more aroused by the second as she listened to her moan in pleasure. With her free hand she unzipped Beca’s jeans and slid her hand inside. She felt her body tense at her touch, she could feel her pulse against her palm, oh, there was no way she could wait any longer.

“Not here!” whispered Beca in horror. “There are people outside!”

Luisa’s hand froze in disappointment. “All right,” she growled as she reluctantly removed her lips from Beca’s mouth, which was now smeared in her blood-red lipstick.  “But you owe me a big one at home.”

***

Fucking sunlight.

Luisa cracked her eyes open an inch. She must have emptied a bottle of Superglue on her eyes last night, she could barely see.

Last night.  _Scheiße_. Tiny Maus.

Holy fuck. She had brought her home. A foreign student she barely knew.

Okay, she had had her fair share of one-night stands, but never at  _her_  place. And definitely not the day after a break-up. Double-scheiße.

She groaned and raised a hand to her throbbing forehead. Exactly how much of that vodka had she drunk?

Last night. Last night was the twenty-first. Which meant today was the twenty-second.

She grabbed the clock on her bedside in alarm. The meeting was in thirty minutes!

She stumbled out of bed and tripped over a pair of unfamiliar boots. “Scheiße!” she said out loud and kicked the shoes in frustration.

“That means shit!” chirped a high-pitched voice. A smiling Beca walked inside, wearing nothing but her plaid shirt. Despite her hangover, Luisa couldn’t help but appreciate her bare legs.

Beca gently picked up Petra, who in return licked her hand. “I made pancakes,” she said shyly. “Are you hungry?”

“I have a meeting,” she croaked. “I need to get out in ten minutes. I’m doomed.”

“Oh. Well, let’s get you ready, then!”

Luisa caught a glimpse of her reflection and recoiled. “I look disgusting.”

“You look gorgeous,” snorted Beca. “All you need is some dry shampoo and baby wipes.”

***

“You did it!” squealed Beca outside, jumping up and down. “She loved you!”

“Well, I haven’t actually done anything,” laughed Luisa. “She merely said I had potential and decided to arrange a few solo performances. I haven’t signed a contract yet.”

“Don’t forget her recommendation to that a cappella group!”

“I’m not joining a grammatically incorrect group,” she scoffed. “It’s  _die Maschine_  in German, not  _das_.“

“Hey, I’m your vocal instructor,” said Beca self-importantly. “If I say you’ll audition, you’ll audition.”

Luisa smiled at her enthusiasm. In the past two hours she had made pancakes, helped her get dressed, and pretended to be Mariah Carey’s old vocal instructor from LA. She had gone to all this trouble just for her.

“Thank you.” She squeezed Beca’s hand tightly. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” beamed Beca. “We’re in this together. Just like I told that producer.”

She tenderly stroked her tiny Maus’ cheek. “Let’s go eat your pancakes, Mäuschen.”

“What does  _Mäuschen_  mean?” asked Beca curiously as they walked through Brandenburg Gate. “And is it  _der, die_  or  _das Mäuschen_?”

“ _Das Mäuschen_. It means little mouse. Which you are, my tiny Maus.”

“Very funny. Did you notice I said  _der, die, das_?”

Luisa suppressed a chuckle. “Yes, I did. You are a quick learner, indeed.”

“I know the Anxious Apples, I drink beer and I have a German nickname,” said Beca happily. “Soon I’ll be correcting _your_  grammar.”

“Don’t push your luck,” grinned Luisa.

She didn’t know for how long Beca was in Berlin, or if she already had a girlfriend, or if this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.  All she knew that her Mäuschen was cute as a button and could cook way better than she could, and that was more than enough for now.


End file.
